


The World Will Burn

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anxiety, Doesn't Follow Cannon At All, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Canon Relationship, Pack Cuddles, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Puppy Piles, Triggers, Violence, first story in this fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seven years,  Stiles goes back home to Beacon Hills. Hopefully, they won't ask too many questions about why he ran away from home, from the pack, at sixteen years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Teen Wolf or their characters. No copyright infringement intended. This is not Beta'd so I apologize for any mistakes I missed.

**One.**

 

He was thirty minutes away from Beacon Hills. Stiles tapped his thumb against the steering wheel nervously.  He hasn't stepped a toe in his hometown since he was sixteen and ran away from home. All he'd left behind were the things he couldn't carry anymore and a letter saying that he was leaving and might not come back.  

Well, it took seven years but he was coming home. 

He was nervous.  The second his jeep breached the pack territory lines,  news of his return would spread like a fire throughout the town.  He ran away from the pack when he was technically a "pup" (even now,  pack terminology was confusing to him) and he already knew his Alpha,  Laura Hale,  was going to be fucking pissed when she saw him. 

The  _Welcome to Beacon Hills_ sign made his insides churn.  He had to do this.  He needed to come back.  He wasn't even twenty seconds inside the familiar town when he heard howls erupting from various points in the town. 

His fingers shook.  Stiles was regretting not taking his anxiety pills this morning. Somehow, he made it to his old home...where, it seemed,  half the fucking pack was parked and waiting for him.  Shit. Was it too late to go back to New York? 

He made it to his front door undisturbed when it opened abruptly and he was faced with a crying and smiling Erica Reyes. 

"Batman," she sobbed as she pulled him into a suffocating hug.  "You're okay. You're home. "

Stiles wrapped his arms around Erica. "Hi, Catwoman." He said. "You're squishing me."

"I should choke you," the blonde Goddess growled. 

Stiles let out a watery smile against Erica's collarbone (because everyone just had to be taller than him now) and whispered,  "I missed you, too."

"Come on inside," Erica said, letting him go.  "Lydia and Allison are making cookies."

"You guys trust Lydia near the stove?" Stiles joked. He really hoped Erica was playing with him.  Lydia burnt water and once set a toaster on fire by doing nothing except putting bread in the toaster and plugging it in. The girl is a disaster in the kitchen. 

"Hey, I'm not that bad," said girl pouted as she came into view. Lydia hadn't changed much from her beautiful self except she looked more at peace with herself, as if there was no weight beating her down.  

"You set my toaster on fire in the seventh grade," Stiles replied, giving her a look.  

"It was the toasters fault,  Stiles,  we've been over this, " she said primly but her pursed lips spread into a wide, beaming smile.  "I'm so happy you're back."

Stiles tried to smile but he couldn't.  It wasn't that he was depressed he was back home but it was the memories of why he had to return that made it difficult to smile. His smile was more of a grimace, to be honest. But before he could say a word,  one of his best friends,  Scott, stepped into view. 

"You left," Scott says.

"I did," Stiles replies.

"You never called," Scott continued. "No pictures. No texts. Nothing. For six  _years_ , Stiles."

Stiles felt his eyes water and his lips quiver. He hated how much power these werewolves had over him and his emotions. Just one simple, stern look and Stiles was already repenting for whatever he did. Damn. He hated crying. 

"I know."

Scott wrapped Stiles in his arms. He only came up to Scott's stomach, now.  "I missed you. We all did."

Stiles sniffled, "I know."

Stiles moved out of the hug to see that Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson were also in his living room. "Hey, guys," Stiles greeted shakily before all three of them moved, hugging him separately. Yes, including Jackson the Asshole. 

"Alpha knows," Erica said. "She wants to have you settled first before she comes. She's planning to come around four."

It was a good thing he had five hours to prepare himself then. 

He nodded. "I just need to get my stuff out of my trunk,"

"Done," Jackson said smugly, holding one of his suitcases. Erica, Issac, and Boyd were behind him with his other belongings. Stiles forgot how much he'd missed Jackson's smug smirk that always made him want to punch the rich bastard in the throat. With his shoe.

"Thanks," Stiles said as they walked passed him and up the stairs to his old bedroom. Boyd nodded at him and ruffled his hair warmly. Stiles sighed happily. He'd missed this. Missed them. Fuck, he'd better stop crying now. His tears needed to go back to where they were formed. Stiles turned to look at Scott, who looked way more mature than it should be possible. He missed a lot. He missed so much it fucking hurt and he only has himself to blame.

"Stop that," Scott chided him. Stiles looked at him innocently. "Don't give me that look. Stop beating yourself up in your head, Stiles. I know that's what you're doing."

"I can't help it," Stiles mumbled, and it was true. He really couldn't stop once it started. Where were his pills, again? He really hoped it was not left in the car.  Withdrawal wasn't a nice experience. 

"Relax," Scott said,  placing his hand at the back of Stiles's neck. It had an immediate calming effect. "Everything will be fine. Go get some rest before Alpha Laura gets here. Ok?"

"Okay," Stiles murmured before numbly making his way towards a bedroom he hasn't seen in seven years. It hasn't changed.  His dad probably couldn't bear coming in here and being reminded that his son had left for reasons no one knew. 

_And they'll continue to be clueless.  No one will know why I left or came back,_ Stiles thought to himself as he crawled into his bed. Screw his sleeping pills. He shouldn't have come back. It was better to have his pack believe his was dead but then he would have continued drowning in the dark abyss that surrounded him. He needed to come back. He would be insane otherwise.

* * *

 

_Stiles grins at his reflection. He looks perfect, handsome, but he understands that the mirror is truly cracked and breakable. He is cracked and breakable. This is the smile of someone broken. His lifeless eyes blink. He swallows his rising sobs._

_This was his life now._

_"Stiles?" Michelle says his name. She's looking at him, holding a container of daily pills. "You forgot to take one."_

_"Right," Stiles whispers and the pill slips into his palm to be consumed. There were too many pills now.  Always pills. He swallows the pill and Michelle nods, satisfied, before walking out of the room.  She designated herself as Stiles adopted mother._

_"Hey, nerd," Sophie smiles from the doorway. Something unfathomable flickers in her eyes as she peers at him.  She holds up his car keys.  "Let's go. I'm driving."_

_Stiles grins.  It was just what he needed._

* * *

 Stiles gasped as he awoke. Comforting warmth surrounded him and he knew it was Laura.  His Alpha. 

"Shh, Stiles," the woman murmured in his ear. "It's okay, Alpha's here. It was just a bad dream."

Damn. Nightmares. That was why he took sleeping pills. 

"Sorry," Stiles said sleepily. "Nightmare. Get those a lot now. It's normal."

Laura hummed, curling her fingers through his hair. 

"You're mad at me," Stiles whispered, knowing it was all his fault.  "You hate me."

"I do not," Laura said firmly. "I've spent these seven years wondering why you left, what you were doing...if you were safe and happy. But I do not hate you nor am I angry at you. I am just so relieved you're home."

Stiles breathed in deeply. Laura smelled like home and safety and love.

"I won't ask you why you left, Stiles. I want you to tell me." Laura said. "I want you to tell me when you're comfortable enough to. I will tell the pack not to pressure you, okay?"

Stiles nodded. "Ok."

Laura pressed her lips against his forehead. He missed her warmth and cuddling.

"I hope you know that everyone will be keeping a strict eye on you so that you won't disappear on then again, right?" Laura said,  her voice breaking the silence.

"I know," Stiles said.  

He only had himself to blame now.  


	2. Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and views! I hope you like this chapter! Sorry for taking so long with it. Comments are welcome!

_“You’re going to have to tell them, you know,” Sophie says, looking up from her tablet. “They’re going to want to know why you left…why you’re coming back.”_

_“I’m not telling them,” Stiles says, stubborn. He looks at the people strolling past, with their Armani suits and pencil pressed skirts. They talk on their phones, talking business. The café is serene yet chaotic. “They don’t need to know.”_

_“They’ll ask questions,” Sophie continues. She’s peering at him with knowing eyes. “They’ll demand answers.”_

_“They won’t get them,” He whispers, feeling his heart clench tightly in his chest. It thumps, reminding Stiles that he was still breathing. Still alive. Still here. “They can’t know.”_

The girls in the pack stare at Stiles as he rummages through one of his bags. They can’t keep their eyes off of him, still in disbelief over the fact that he was _here_. Breathing. Alive. Okay. Stiles does his best to ignore the eyes peering at his silhouette as he looks for his medication. He had to take so many pills nowadays; it was hard to keep track of them. Michelle was best at reminding him when to take his meds. He still hated swallowing them down – they made him feel as if he were certifiably insane.

Maybe he was.

He didn’t know.

“H-how’s the book coming?” Lydia asked from where she’s perched.

Stiles froze for a moment before remembering that he was a New York Times Best Selling Author. It must’ve come as a shock to the pack when they saw his name on a published book. “It’s going great,” Stiles said. “I’m almost done writing the rough draft of the seventh book _Daunted_.”

“I can’t wait to read it,” Allison smiled sweetly at him, showing her dimples.

Stiles gives a shaking nod and tries not to show how affected he was at that simple smile. Hurt sprawled throughout his bones, making them ache. He wanted to sleep. Man, did he want to sleep and never wake up. _Bad thoughts_ , Stiles scolded himself. _You’re thinking bad thoughts again! Gah…where is my damn med bag?_ He could feel his anxiety curl at the bottom of his feet, coiling, waiting to strike as if it were a venomous snake. He wasn’t the one to bring up his luggage and it wasn’t that hard to miss a bright red, little bag!

“Have you guys seen a bright red bag anywhere?” Stiles asks quietly, knowing that those in his room and downstairs can hear him. The pack has gone in and out of his house all afternoon, always tromping up the stairs to see Stiles and touch his hair, his shoulder – hell, Liam only managed to grab his foot from the puppy pile Stiles found himself participating in a few hours earlier.

The girls shake their head and Boyd yells from downstairs, “We didn’t see a red bag in your car!”

The snake strikes viciously and the panic _engulfs_ Stiles whole. He’s a blur before he can even realize he got to his feet in the first place. The thought of his medicine bag getting lost somehow (even though he effin’ _drove here_ all the way from the Big Apple) makes anxiety grip his throat to the point where he finds it too difficult to breathe. A pack member manages to catch him before he goes flying out the doorway. He’s wrapped in warmth and a hypnotic lull of a heartbeat even though his heart is frantically beating against his ribcage and lungs. Whoever is holding him smells like the woods surrounding Beacon Hills after it rains. The smell overlaps a faint scent of sugar cookies.

“There, there,” Laura’s uncle Peter murmurs. “No need to panic, pup. You’re fine. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

 _There’s nothing to be afraid of,_ his mind tells him, rationalizing. _You just need to calmly search your car. It’s not the end of the world. You can just text Sophie for another shipment of meds if it is lost._

Even though, withdrawal is a bitch to deal with.

Peter keeps saying his mantra of _you’reokay,alright,safe_ until Stiles feels his heartbeat calm and become steady again.

“S-sorry,” Stiles whispered, and he knew that everyone within a five-mile radius could hear him given the fact that his heartbeat was racing. “I just…I _need_ that bag.”

“What’s in it?” Mason questions from where he’s sitting on the couch, sprawled over it with his head on Brett’s lap. Oh man, did he miss those two (though it was a bit weird that he was still called a pup, and those two were not…).

Stiles mentally debated telling them about his meds but he decided that it couldn’t hurt – they’d figure it out soon enough when he took them in the kitchen. “My medicine,” he grumbles. He can tell it caused shock among those that were in his home. More questions where rattling in their minds but they didn’t want to push Stiles too far, not when he just got back.

“A red bag, you say?” Lydia says as she swoops past him, easily grabbing his car keys. “I’ll get it for you.”

Stiles managed to untangle himself from Peter’s comfortable grasp (and yes, he also missed the crazy uncle) and made his way into his kitchen for a glass of water to chug down with the lovely, multicolored pills. Scott looked at him, concern palpable in his orbs.

“Why do you need to take pills?” Scott asks.

 _There it is_ , Stiles thinks to himself as a ball tightens in his throat. _The million dollar question of the year. Might as well tell them…_

They were waiting for a response and Stiles closed his eyes, once again wondering what the hell he was thinking in coming back here. “I’m sick,” Stiles told them as-matter-of-factly.

“How sick?” Lydia interrogated softly as she handed him his pills.

Stiles eyed the time. He had to take them now less he wanted to get his schedule out of whack. He ignored the question and busied himself with his container of pills. He hated this container, those pills, the reminder of how messed up he was. Once all pills were swallowed and he drank the water, he found that Lydia was still peering at him expectantly.

“I dunno,” Stiles says truthfully. “I ignore the doctor when he tries to tell me how messed up I am.”

Scott scowls at him. “You are not messed up, Stiles,” he says firmly.

“So you have to take those every day?” Cora asks. She’s leaning against the fridge.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, but I have to be consistent or else the schedule will go all crazy and I really don’t feel like going into withdrawal again. It’s a nightmare to deal with, honestly.”

“Is that why you left?” Allison asks quietly. Everyone seems to hold their breath. “Because you were sick?”

It’s impossible to lie. Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s part of the reason but not all of it,” Stiles admits before he whispers, “I don’t want to remember all of it.”

He knew they were giving one another questioning looks. What happened to him that was so horrible that he had to run away when he was sixteen? He knows they want to ask, that they want to know, but he was still terrified of his old scars ripping open at their seams. He was still so very scared of his past – the one he tried so hard to run away from. He found himself running back seven years later. Michelle and Sophie were wonderful people but they were nothing like his pack, his family. His _home_.

“We won’t push you,” Lydia says though her eye is twitching and Stiles knows she’s just aching to ask prying questions in search of satisfying answers. “You can tell us when you’re ready.”

Stiles gives Lydia a shaking smile. He drifts towards the living room as if he were a ghost. Brett and Mason scoot over to make room and, promptly, Mason plops his feet into his lap. It’s so familiar, such a wonderful action that it makes Stiles want to break down almost immediately. He doesn’t but watches some cartoon on Disney to bury the burning ache.

* * *

_He wants to drown in his thoughts. Stiles sighs, idly twiddling with his fingers as he waits in the kitchen. The clock beams two in the morning and he has a deadline to make at three p.m._

_He can’t sleep. Not tonight. Not when he’s coming back home._

_Sophie is passed out in her apartment next door as usual, though the silence emerging from the thin walls unnerves Stiles to no end. Well. Her small snores bring him comfort somewhat. Just an hour earlier was We the Kings and Novelette playing softly over her speakers as she practiced dance moves for her upcoming recital. He shivers and wraps his arms around himself, pathetically giving himself comfort._

_There was no point in turning on the lights. Money was tight as always what with the bills from the hospital piling by the mail holder on one of the counters. He fights the urge to cry. He wants to go home. He can’t, though. Home was thousands of miles away. Home was with the pack, with the full moon and hearing resonating howls throughout the leaves of the forest. Home was not in the bustling, lifeless city of New York. Home was not countless bills with his name printed on it. Home was not a crappy job as a Starbucks barista._

_Beacon Hills was home._

_But Home was a place he could never return to._

* * *

 

Stiles jolts awake to hear murmuring voices slipping in and out of his ears. There’s a warm smell of food cooking in the kitchen. The television is playing Alice in Wonderland quietly as small children, captivated, watch the screen from the floor. Brett is also asleep on the couch but Mason is somewhere else. Stiles fights off the last remnants of sleep as he notices the time. It’s around eight. Time for more pills.

He stretches, popping a few of his cramped muscles, and yawns. Stiles makes his way to the kitchen where, hopefully, his medicine is still there. His father is in the kitchen as is Melissa McCall, his Alpha, Peter the Crazy Uncle, and his Alpha’s mother, Talia. He remembers Alpha Talia, when she was still the big bad in Beacon Hills until an accident when he was eight caused her to back down and give the title to her eldest child, Laura. She’s still an Alpha but Laura is in charge now. His fathers’ eyes brighten considerably when they land on him. He gives a smile and practically melts into the comforting hug given to him.

His father is exactly as he remembers, except with more gray hair and lines on his face. His heart aches as he knows he’s responsible for most of those hairs and lines. He knew that he could’ve sent something to the pack to let them know that he was still here and alive but in doing so would’ve made him bend and crumple and crawl back home when it wasn’t safe. Melissa, Talia, and Laura are cooking something delicious. Reluctantly, Stiles untangles himself from his fathers’ bear grip and searches for his pills. He finds that it’s still on the counter with a glass of water next to it. He blinks.

Peter notices his confusion and explains, “We didn’t know if you needed to take it again so we left it out for you.”

Stiles nods and whispers, “Thanks.”

It doesn’t take long for him to swallow the next regime of pills down his throat with refreshing water. He’s still wondering why he wanted to come back. He’s still wondering if he would be able to gather the strength to tell them the truth about why he left, about why he’s so sick. Stiles hugs his father again and decides to let the wonders slide down his back and puddle by his feet. He’ll stress about it later.

Now, though, he was home. He was safe. He was _okay_.


End file.
